


Darling Dearest

by valyrianivory



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valyrianivory/pseuds/valyrianivory
Summary: "You saved me once.""And I'll keep savin' ya if ya let me."She's the oldest Braithwaite daughter looking for a way out. After being dealt a difficult hand of cards that leaves little in her favor, she finds solace in a rugged cowboy when she least expected it. The beginning of a friendship or something more lies on the horizon.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking! I haven't written fanfic in a really long time, so hopefully, I'm not too rusty with this! I've just recently finished Red Dead Redemption 2 and it completely gutted me, and I literally fell in love with Arthur and everything about the game, so here this is! I hope you stick around for more! 
> 
> Also, there is light domestic abuse middle-end of the chapter. Just a warning beforehand. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The gazebo sits along the bank, the water calmed to an eerie stillness as the sky begins to fade to an orange hue. The wood planks creak as my sister paces back and forth in front of me, practically working a hole into the surface. I’m reading a book beneath a lantern light above, some dramatic tale that nobody but me would fancy. As the gazebo creaks once more, I let out an annoyed huff. 

“Will you quit? You’ll end up startin’ a fire with all that friction in your feet,” I say.   
  
Penelope shoots me a downcast look, worrying her bottom lip with her white teeth. “I haven’t heard from Beau in days,” she exaggerates. “I hope he’s okay.” 

Closing my book, I level my sister’s stare with a one of remorse. “Your prince charming is fine, I’m sure, now can you please stop worryin’?” 

Penelope sighs and sits next to me. “You don’t get it, Clara. You’ve never been in love before.” 

Embarrassment floods my cheeks. “Like I have any choice in the matter to fall in love,” I snap. “Consider yourself lucky you’re not being wed off to some vazey ratbag.” 

She pauses, likely realizing the mistake she’s quickly made. Before she can continue, however, a set of heavy booted steps make their way up the gazebo, the sound of spurs clicking. It alarms us both, causing us to stand at the intruder. 

A tall man, with a muscled, rugged build, stands before us. With a gambler hat, dirtied trousers, and a blue shirt tucked neatly into place, we see before us an unfamiliar face. It is an attractive face, for sure. I can barely contain the blush that darkens my pale complexion. As he begins to talk to Penelope, completely ignoring my existence, he gives her a letter and gift, both from Beau. I scrutinize him with my gray eyes, feeling a barrier go up as he and Penelope continue to talk. 

“Pen, isn’t this unusual,” I voice, interrupting their conversation about how strange Beau can be.

The man finally looks at me, a look of irritation in his pretty eyes. 

Penelope, as naive as she is, quiets. “Oh, Clara. This fine gentleman is just an errand boy for Beau. So sweet of him to deliver this to me in one piece.” 

I roll my eyes. 

Penelope continues. “The rest of our families are stuck in the Dark Ages…or, I dunno, cave people perhaps.” She’s handing him a drink of lemonade, freshly squeezed by my own two hands. 

He takes it, nodding gingerly at the two of us before taking a seat, Penelope’s inviting nature giving him the okay. 

“Beau’s different, but if they found out, they’ll kill him and send me someplace awful like…Ohio.” 

Still keeping my wits about myself, I take my seat and watch the man. I’m not being all too obvious about it, because his cheeks tinge a pinkness when he catches me watching him.

“You ever been to Ohio, sir?” Penelope asks. 

“No.” His gravelly voice, warm and scratchy, causes goosebumps to rise on my skin. 

“Well, neither have I, but our uncle has a factory there. He was sort of the black sheep, on account of having left, but now they tolerate him because he’s a vicious snob,” she sighs, taking a small sip of the drink. “Families are…are…” she glances at me. “Something else.” 

The way she just spews our family business makes my frustration climb. I keep myself in check by flipping to a page in my book, hoping to calm the bite on my tongue. 

“Have you got a family, sir?” Penelope asks him.  
  
Moving to stand, he says, “No…not really.”

Penelope fans herself. “Well, they tolerate him because of the money, but me, with my ideas above my station, they can’t stand.” 

“That sounds pretty complicated. I…I don’t know quite what to say,” he admits, eyes casting over to me. 

“Well, nothing to say, except I hope they all rot,” Penelope says briskly, elbowing me in the side. 

“Penelope,” I hiss. 

She swallows thickly at the warning in my tone. “I-I don’t…well…maybe a bit…but here.” Penelope picks up a folded paper from the table, something she’s been scribbling at the past few hours. “If you see Beau again, will you give this to him?” 

He nods kindly. “Sure.” Then, he’s walking off. A quick in and out. 

When he’s gone, I turn to Penelope to hiss in her ear again. “Are you kiddin’ me, Pen? You don’t know him!” 

She scoffs. “He seemed kind enough.” 

“He looks like a haggard outlaw, from the looks. Aunt Catherine would have us slaughtered knowing he was here.” 

“Maybe, but look, we aren’t dead yet.” 

“The important word there being ‘yet’.”   
  
I know Penelope is young, but she is smart, so I credited her for being so in such a strange situation as this. But when Beau’s name starts being thrown around, it’s like all sense goes out the window. Not that I blame her much, since he is a fine gentleman towards her, on the few occasions that I’ve met him, it’s just the circumstantial cards they’ve been dealt aren’t in their favor. Our family and the Gray’s go back decades of hateful blood, and I’d hate to see Penelope strung up for such an innocent crime of passion. 

As the sun starts to lower further in the sky, Penelope and I make our way back towards the manor. When we push inside the front doors, a group of hooves gather behind us, getting louder the closer they get to the manor. I glance over my shoulder briefly as my stomach turns. 

Enzo Bronte dismounts from his horse, a strong steed with the blackest fur and towering physique. His tanned skin is of Italian descent, and he has strong facial features that could cut glass. If it weren’t for his appalling personality, he would be an attractive fellow. 

He’s who Catherine has chosen to be my husband. A respected crimelord’s son out of Saint Denis, he’s apparently a perfect match for a southern belle like myself. I highly disagree. 

“Clara, my love. I’ve been wondering when we’d see each other again,” he says loudly. 

Dread consumes me. Along with being a crimelord’s son, Enzo is also a respected man in the town of Saint Denis. He works alongside his father doing lord knows what, something I have a hard time digesting, I’m sure, and doesn’t hide that fact as he strolls up to me. I can practically smell the crimes he’s committed still staining his skin. Is that a fleck of blood on his vest? I turn my nose up without realizing, watching his dark eyes narrow at my reaction. 

He wants to say something but turns to Penelope instead. “Can you tell Catherine we’ll be back sometime later? I was hoping to have some alone time with my future wife.” 

Penelope can sense the fear in my body, but she doesn’t want to upset an infamous Bronte like Enzo, so she complies and goes inside. 

Enzo wraps a strong hand around my arm and practically drags me to his group on their horses.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, “Come have a few drinks with me tonight?” 

I wouldn’t be allowed to say no anyway, so I simply bite my tongue and nod my head. He helps me on the back of his saddle before throwing himself up in front of me. He clicks his tongue and his horse spurs into motion, taking us to the town of Rhodes. 

It’s a quick trip that’s too quiet for my taste. As my stomach turns sour the closer we get to the saloon, so does my heart. It’s beating too fast and my breathing gets more hitched the tighter Enzo clenches the hands around his waist. I’m practically a puddle of nerves when we hitch the horses and dismount. 

Enzo Bronte is not a kind lover. He isn’t even a lover. Instead, he’s a monster, one that knows no boundaries and cares for none. We haven’t shared a bed yet, or even shared kisses on the cheek, but I know when that time comes I’ll have no choice but to grin and bear it. 

The saloon is quiet when we enter. With Bronte’s presence looming in the doorway, people are rendered speechless. I cower behind him like the doting fiancee I have to be. He barely allows me to speak unless spoken to, and only touches me if it’s to reprimand me for not following simple rules or just because he can. Not sexually, at least. Thank heavens for that. 

We move to the bar and take our seats. I sit right next to Enzo as my stomach clenches in fear. I wonder what will happen this time. Maybe a slap to the cheek if I breathe too loudly, or maybe a firm grip on my hand if I drink too fast. I’m at a loss as I watch the barman serve us drinks. 

Enzo passes me a small glass filled with amber liquid. I hate the taste, but I swallow it down anyway. 

I shouldn’t even be here on Gray’s grounds. I’m a Braithwaite. But that doesn’t matter because of the power Enzo wields. 

“How have your weeks gone since I last saw you, darling?” Enzo asks after passing a few words with his men. “Did you miss me?” 

I nod my head. “Yes. Of course.” 

“Good. You know, Catherine is having me move moonshine to Saint Denis for work. I’m hoping to see more of you in the coming weeks.” Enzo’s eyes rake over me. “Have you gained a few inches in the waist recently?”

His buddies start guffawing, and I feel heat bloom in my cheeks. Their obnoxious laughter bubbles over the piano being played in the corner and tears threaten their way to my eyes.   
  
Enzo raises a hand, gently caressing my cheek. “Oh, dear, have I upset you?” 

“No, not at all.” 

He grabs a fistful of hair in his fist. “Why do you lie to me?” 

“I didn’t—”  
  
“Boys,” he addresses his men, “will you excuse us for a minute?” 

I know what’s coming as he pulls me back to the entrance. While holding me in one hand and his drink in another, he pushes the door open with his body, running into three men entering. 

“Move it,” he says to them.

I manage to see that we’ve just run into the man that delivered Penelope’s letter earlier that evening. He’s with two men that I don’t get a chance to look at before I’m being dragged around the side of the building by my hair. 

I wince at the pain as he wounds his fist tighter into my blonde locks. Tears make their way down my face at the pain. 

Enzo throws me against the side of the building, getting in my face with the stench of alcohol on his breath. I’m a ball of tears by this point, fear racking my body as he throws the glass at the place beside my head. 

“All I wanted was a perfect lady, one that doesn’t lie, one that listens to me,” he screams. “Instead I get this.” He spits near my feet. 

“I haven’t—”

“Is there a problem here?” a voice asks to our right. 

Our heads both snap up at the sound, breaking us of this heated argument. Enzo chuckles, running a hand down his face. 

“No problem at all,” he says. “I’m just tryin’ to get my lady in line, is all.” 

The man I met earlier stands there, basking in the lantern light hanging above him. He looks sinister with the shadows bouncing off the angles of his face, but he’s here to save me. Nothing sinister besides the look he gives Enzo.

“Looks more ‘an that,” the man says, the southern drawl in his voice radiating my skin. “Looks like you is hurtin’ the lady.” 

“Nonsense, I would never,” Enzo sneers. 

As the two men stare each other down, I dart my eyes over to the left, seeing a way out of this mess. Without much thought, I try taking off for the left, but Enzo’s arm swings over and drags me back. I trip over my skirts, falling backward on my back, feeling the air leave my lungs. 

“Now,” the man says, “I’ll give you a couple seconds to back off, or you’ll regret it, boy.” 

Enzo laughs. 

Then, a sound like something sinking into skin makes Enzo’s laugh turn to a painted scream. 

Looking up, I see a knife protruding from his shoulder. I hurry to my feet as the fire in Enzo’s eyes heats. A hand sits on the holster at his side, and I know getting out of this won’t be an easy feat.   
  
A couple of footsteps rush to us, and I look up to see the men the other had come to the saloon with stand at his sides, guns and knives in the air. 

“Dutch ain’t gonna like this,” the one on his left says, with dark hair pulled back from his face in a knot. He has dark tanned skin that makes it hard to place his ethnicity, and the other is a black man that has the kindest face as he eyes me at Enzo’s side. 

“What Dutch don’t know won’t hurt ‘im,” my savior says, hand hovering over a gun on his side. 

I jump out of the way as Enzo’s hand flies to his gun, and the rest is silenced by hundreds of gunshots raining through the yard. 

Tears continue to fall as I fear for my life in the situation. More men exit the back of the building, Enzo’s men, and help Enzo gain traction in the gunfight. I’m at a loss on what to do. I’m only behind a crate next to the gunfire, so I tuck into myself to keep myself safe. 

Enzo starts whistling for their horses, and I hear their hooves pound on the ground as they come around the saloon to us. Although my savior and his two men are outnumbered, Enzo is too cowardly to stick around. He mounts his horse in a swift motion without looking at me and starts off. His men stick around for a bit before going their own ways. 

I’m completely forgotten about. A sense of emptiness fills me as I realize this is the life I’ll live forever with that sad excuse of a man. 

“Miss Braithwaite?” 

I sniffle before rising to my feet. 

He stands there before me, a look of sympathy passing over his face before assessing me for any injuries. 

“I-I’m fine, thank you, for saving me,” I say through more tears.

His eyes are still looking me over like I could be lying like he’s actually worried for my well being, and his friends start forward. 

“Arthur, we’ve got to go. We don’t want to be around when the lawmen catch whiff of this,” the one with long hair says. 

“You need a ride, Miss Braithwaite?” he, Arthur, asks. 

“I don’t wanna be any trouble.” 

“Won’t be,” he says, whistling for his own horse. “You’re just on the way.” 

Arthur helps me into the saddle before getting in behind me. Thanks to the dark, it’s easy to hide my blush at the feeling of him at my back. He takes the reins with his strong hands, the flex of his muscles making butterflies flutter in my belly. 

The three of us take off at a run. We make it out of town quickly, and then Arthur’s two friends decide to leave us be. They go in an opposite direction as us, and I frown. 

“I thought you said I was on the way?” I ask him. 

“Huh? Oh, I just figured gettin’ you in the saddle was easier if I told ya that,” he admits. “It is no trouble, Miss Braithwaite. Wasn’t gonna leave ya there in the cold, or if that bastard came back.” 

The troubled feeling from before returns. “He may be at the manor…he’s…he’s my…” I choke up again. “I’m to marry him soon…”  
  
Arthur nods at my back. “Ya sure it’s safe goin’ back there?” 

I shrug. “I’ve been through worse.”

He hesitates, then guides his horse down the gravel road lined with trees towards the entrance of the manor. I don’t see any sign of Enzo or his men, so I sigh in relief. 

“I may be free from him for another day,” I say sadly. He comes back eventually. 

“Miss Braithwaite,” Arthur starts. 

“Just call me Clara,” I say, glancing at him over my shoulder. We’re in very close proximity of each other so I swallow and look away. “Thank you, Mr…what was your last name again?” 

“Didn’t give it. Morgan, but just call me Arthur, Clara.” 

Arthur hops down before helping me. His hands grasp around my waist, and as if I weigh nothing, places me gently on the ground. Enzo wouldn’t treat me as such. He’d wait for me to get down myself. It’s only a miracle if the man helps me on the horse in the first place like he did tonight before going to the saloon.

“I’m very thankful for tonight, Mr…sorry, Arthur,” I chuckle lightly. “If there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Arthur smiles. “It’s the least I could do.” 

“And I want to apologize for how I acted earlier. I just don’t see many strangers on the property so I thought it was…” 

“Strange?” 

“A bit. But in all seriousness, thank you for delivering that letter for my sister, and thank you for saving me. I try not to be a damsel in distress or nothin’…” I’m swaying awkwardly in my skirts as I try to find the right words. “Uh…have a goodnight, Arthur. Thank you, again.” 

Arthur tips his head at me, the brim of his hat taking over his face. “Anytime, Clara. G’night.” 

The way my name rolls of his tongue makes a mix of different emotions wash over me. Something about him just makes a girl’s head spin. Although a bit older than me, since I’m only twenty-three, he is handsome in a way I wouldn’t have thought before. I’ve never been attracted to someone so weathered and strong. I can barely keep my eyes off of him as he gets back on his horse and starts back to wherever he came from. 

This won’t be the last time I see Arthur Morgan, and it won’t be the last he’s seen of Clara Braithwaite. Something in my heart tells me that, and I believe it. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive feedback I've received so far! This chapter is only a bit shorter than last, but I'm hoping in coming chapters to be able to increase the word count a bit for longer chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“I didn’t see Enzo last night when you returned,” Aunt Catherine remarks the next morning when I pass her in the dining area. She and Penelope are eating flaky pastries and tea for breakfast, the two of them sitting opposite each other across the mahogany table. Catherine barely directs eye contact with me as she continues talking. “I heard from the guards you rode in with a stranger last night.”  
  
I shrug one shoulder. “Enzo had other business he had to abandon me for last night. I got a ride from someone in town.”  
  
Catherine’s delicate mannerisms as she pours another cup of tea come to a halt. “So, you think it’s wise to just take a ride from a stranger? It could’ve been a Gray looking to chop off your head.”  
  
“Oh, Aunt Catherine, quit the dramatics,” I scoff.  
  
Her wrinkled hand turns to a fist when she turns to me. The two of us have never gotten along even before she gained guardianship of Penelope and I. Cold and calculating, Catherine Braithwaite is anything but a fragile old lady. She may look the part, but Catherine is an absolute witch when she needs to be. Like right now. As she stares me down with menacing eyes, she’s practically begging me to toe out of line.  
  
She’s got skeletons in her closet. Most are buried on the grounds of the manor, much to my dismay. I also wouldn’t put it past her to have my own mother and father’s bodies hidden somewhere beneath the lush gardens outback. I know she killed them by setting our childhood home up in flames coincidentally after their own parents succumbed to old age. My stare levels with hers as I reach over for a scone.  
  
Penelope stays silent as usual.  
  
I take a bite of the pastry before speaking. “I’m heading into town for some things at the shops. If you need anything, Aunt…”  
  
She slides a long list over the table to me before going back to her meal.  
  
Pocketing the list, I leave the manor at once.  
  
Dressed in navy skirts and a high collared white blouse, I feel better this morning than I have in recent weeks. Despite my unfortunate night involving Enzo and a gunfight, I choose not to dwell on such misfortunes. Without them, I wouldn’t have met Arthur Morgan.  
  
I haven’t been able to stop thinking of him. Only spending a short amount of time with him has made me yearn for more, and no other man has ever made me feel such a way. I blush as I remember his hands on my waist or the way he said my name. Like a foolish schoolgirl, I roll over the memory in my head on my ride over to the shops.  
  
The wagon driver and I come to a halt outside the shop in town. Only a few brave faces dare to nod at me in welcome, as I am a Braithwaite on Gray soil. I sigh deeply as some glare at me like I’m the manure on the bottom of their boots. 

The shopkeeper greets me when I enter. I pick up a few things for Catherine and myself and place an order for some new dresses coming in season. There are at least a few crates full of things when I’m finished, so I start by grabbing one to take outside to the wagon. 

“Miss Braithwaite?” 

I nearly topple over from the weight in my hands when I see Arthur Morgan approaching from the other side of the street. He’s just exited the sheriff’s office, where a tall man in a red vest stands on the porch. He’s watching our exchange with defensive eyes. 

“I told you, Mr. Morgan. The name’s Clara,” I chuckle. 

He grins before holding out a hand to help me. “May I?” 

I blush at his kindness. 

Pretty soon we have most of the crates packed up with some help from my driver Clyde. When we’re ready to go, I feel a pit form in my stomach at the idea of leaving. There’s just something about Arthur Morgan, something that makes me come alive. Maybe it’s that bad persona he carries with him, with a pistol strapped to his hip and the gun slung over his shoulder. Despite the rough exterior, he makes me feel safe enough. Enzo doesn’t make me feel that way.

That’s when I notice the silver badge clipped to Arthur’s chest. I bristle at the sight, glancing over to the sheriff’s office to see Sheriff Gray and that man with the long black hair watching us patiently. 

I wave a hand at his chest. “New to town and already deputized? You must’ve impressed the old sheriff.” 

He looks confused for a minute before glancing down at himself. “Oh, uh, it’s a temporary situation.” 

I snap my lips together to hum in thought, wondering how Arthur caught himself up in that. He looks a world away from being someone that enforces the law, and more like one that breaks the law instead. I try to picture him hecklin’ folks for petty crimes, and the thought makes a small smile twitch at my lips. But as fast as it comes, worry festers in my belly. 

Working under a Gray, Arthur must know the history our families have. This polite facade could just be a ruse set up by the sheriff to get close and get intel that could destroy the Braithwaite name. Part of me wants to believe that Arthur isn’t like that, but the stubborn part of me keeps kicking me in the rear, telling me to defend myself from his half-smiles or sweet gestures. Just in case. 

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, Clara?” Arthur asks, a furrow of his brow. 

I snap out of my thoughts and shake my head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan. I should be getting back home. Thank you for your kindness, again.” 

“Clara, you can call me Arthur,” he reminds me. 

Calling him Arthur will only put a hole in the defense mechanism I’m putting in place. I can’t act like Penelope and swoon at the first man that treats me with respect. That’s how you get hurt. How _I’ll_ get hurt. And I’m already hurting as is.

“Right, well…” I fidget my hands in my skirt as I try to back myself out of the conversation without it seeming too rushed. 

He must have taken note of how awkward I suddenly seem, because his eyebrows only knit closer together, and his eyes look downcast as he glances at the ground. He places his hands on his belt, nodding. “You best get goin’ then.” 

Taking the out, I nod firmly back. My heart hurts at being dismissed, but I know it’s for the best. 

* * *

“I can’t believe this!” 

The screaming that’s coming from downstairs wakes me in the night. I’m dressed in a lace chemise, something too inappropriate to leave a bedroom in. Grabbing the robe hanging in my wardrobe, I tie it neatly in place before padding downstairs towards the noise. 

“All of it? Gone?” A glass shatters after Catherine screams into the air. “You’re supposed to kill them if they threaten our business!” 

I hear a male inhale deeply. “They ambushed us before we had a chance to save any of it. They were in and out in no time.” 

Enzo. My blood boils at the thought of him standing in our manor.

“You’re supposed to be better at this,” Catherine hisses, then scoffs. “A crime lord's son? More like a joker's son, if anything.” 

Before I can stop myself, I push through the double doors leading into the sitting room. I see Catherine sitting on one chaise and Enzo on another. He looks bruised in the face like he just got back from a fighting ring. 

“Darling,” Enzo greets. 

Catherine gawks. “Just what on Earth are you wearing? This isn’t a hostel, girl.” 

I ball the fists at my sides. “I heard screaming.” 

“Of course you heard screaming,” Catherine says. “Our moonshine was stolen from us today!” 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. All this banter at midnight over some moonshine? 

“It’s going to cost us to replace it all,” she continues. “Unless we find the men that took it. Who did you say it was, Enzo?” 

Enzo’s eyes move back to Catherine, whose hair is in disarray and clothing rumpled like she’s just gotten out of bed. “Not sure. We think the Gray’s have something to do with it.” 

“Of course. It’s always those damn Gray’s trying to take what’s ours.” Catherine thinks a moment as she sips on a glass of fancy scotch. “We’ll have to retaliate.” 

Retaliation means more bloodshed, and more bloodshed means an all-out war between our families. I’m not sure I’m up for that fight. Any day now they can show up on our doorstep and take us all out, one by one. Our men are good but outnumbered at best. 

Enzo agrees with a nod. “We will have to. Not only was that your moonshine, but it was also ours as well. My father will help us if needed.” 

Catherine warms a bit at the fake smile Enzo is giving her. He can charm a snake, but he can’t stop himself from stomping on it afterward. I feel my stomach roll when he looks back at me with appreciative eyes. 

“Thank you, Enzo,” Catherine smiles. “I’m so happy you’re part of this family now. Without your family’s influence, I don’t think we could have stayed afloat this long.” She turns to me. “Don’t tell me you don’t agree, Clara. The Bronte’s will bring us more luck than promised. Starting with that wedding of yours.” 

The last thing I want to talk about is marrying Enzo Bronte. Catherine knows my upset at being married off to someone I don’t love, even worse someone abusive and manipulative as him. However, I can’t put up a fight against her and Angelo Bronte.

“Well, if you’re done with the shouting, I’ll be upstairs sleeping soundly the rest of the night,” I say in a clipped tone. 

Catherine shakes her head. “Oh, Enzo, will you please escort her back to her room? Before someone catches her in that immodest state she’s in?” 

“Of course, Miss Braithwaite.” 

Heart pounding, I watch as Enzo rises from his seat and starts for me. Every thought that can run through my head does as I turn on my heel and follow close behind him up the stairs. My instincts tell me to turn and run before it’s too late, but as we climb the stairs I realize that maybe it’s too late for me already. My fate has already been sealed. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the support so far! Here's a little longer of a chapter for you this week. I should say there is a trigger warning near the end of the chapter. 
> 
> With that, happy reading!

The afternoon sun beats down on my back as I hunch over the garden outside. Tending to it is a relaxing hobby that I have only started doing recently. As soon as Enzo stepped into the picture, the smallest things such as picking weeds out of the flower bed offered solace that couldn’t be found elsewhere. That’s why I’m here on the ground elbow-deep in soil trying to get the pollutants from the ground. The flowers need to flourish. Because I can’t, and something on these damned grounds needs to. 

Sweat beads across my forehead as I tug the final weed. I smile and throw it on the pile nearby. 

“Is this all you do with your free time?” I hear Penelope ask from above. 

I chuckle and sit back on my knees. Penelope is wearing one of her fanciest dresses, her hair dolled up in a fashionable updo, and a change purse dangling from one dainty wrist. She looks like a woman on a mission, far too dressed up for just a walk around the yard. 

“Where’re you off to?” I ask. 

“Saint Denis. I figured the two of us could have a girls’ day?” Pen asks. “Or a girls’ weekend?” 

The thought of going to Saint Denis makes my stomach roll. Because of Bronte’s presence in that city, I’d undoubtedly run into either Enzo or Angelo. I begin to shake my head when Penelope raises a hand to silence whatever I’m going to say. 

“Please, Clara. We haven’t spent time in ages. Enzo is busy transporting moonshine for Catherine and Angelo is known to care more about politics than the whereabouts of his future daughter-in-law.” Penelope gives me a weak smile. “Besides, don’t you want to get away from this stuffy manor?” 

She did have a point. Enzo should be in Annesburg right now delivering fresh shine, and Angelo has never cared to bat an eye my way. It could do us some good to have some quality sister time.

I take my gloves off and rise to my feet. “I guess we could…” 

Penelope lets out a squeal in delight, nearly jumping on the flowers I’ve just planted. “It’ll be such a fun time. I promise!” 

Letting out a chuckle, I go inside to get myself ready for our outing. I take a quick bath with floral soaps and lotions, taking the most time on my white-blonde hair to get a shine. Once bathed, I dress in one of my newer dresses, a sunflower yellow-colored one with lace around the hem and a ruched bodice. I feel pretty as I stare at myself in the mirror and powder my face. 

“Are you almost ready?” Penelope asks impatiently as I exit my room. She’s leaning against the opposite wall from my door. 

“I’m ready,” I say confidently even as worry simmers in my belly at the possibility of running into Enzo. 

Penelope links her arm with mine and we descend the grand staircase. A coach is waiting outside for us that I’m sure Penelope fetched while I got ready. The driver opens the door for us and we settle in for the ride. 

As we go through Rhodes, I’m staring out the window in silence, watching the town pass by. That’s when I see a wagon parked near the general store. Occupying it is no other than Arthur Morgan and a pretty blonde woman dressed in trousers. I feel envy as I watch them chuckle about something. 

“What’s wrong?” Penelope asks, leaning over to see what I’m glaring at through the window. 

“Nothing,” I say hurriedly, looking away quickly as not to be caught. 

“Is that Beau’s errand boy?” Penelope muses. 

I shrug. 

“Don’t play coy, Clara. He _is_ a handsome man. I saw you looking at him when he was at the manor.” 

“Because he was strange.” 

“Because he is _handsome_ ,” she clarifies. “Though, there is something about him that strikes me as bad news.” 

I give her a look. “Really?” 

Penelope nods. “He’s a complete mystery. Whenever I see him in town he’s always traveling with someone else equally suspicious, and they just came here out of the blue? And are always armed at the ready? I’m surprised that Sheriff Gray so openly allowed him in the ranks. He hasn’t even been here a month yet.”

“Maybe he has a background with the law?” 

“Yeah, on the other end of it, I’m sure,” Penelope sighs. 

I’m suspicious as well, but I don’t voice this as our journey continues. I try to forget about the jealous turmoil in my heart as we sit in silence the rest of the way to Saint Denis. 

The whole point of the trip is for Penelope to gain some more insight into the woman’s suffrage movement happening across the state. There’s a woman in Saint Denis that’s devoted her life to the cause, and Penelope wants to learn how to bring the movement to Rhodes. She’s so actively involved in women's rights even if she’s met with backlash from misogynistic men. _I’m so proud of her_ , I think as I watch her eye the outdoors.

The carriage soon wheels us into the town of Saint-Denis, an industrialized city on the cusp of a revolutionized era. With paved roads, trams, and smog-inducing factories, the city is booming with life from all backgrounds. From the slums to the wealthy estates on the edge of town, it’s a melting pot of activity. Both good and bad, but every town has that.

We’re dropped off in front of the Victory Street Station with our luggage at our feet. Penelope is practically bursting at the seams with excitement as she grabs her bag from the ground. She acts as if she’s never been to Saint Denis before. We’ve been a couple of times in our lives, but I know she’s just excited to get her hands on Dorthea Wicklow. 

“Our rooms are at Bastille Saloon,” Penelope tells me when we have our things and begin walking the main street of the town. “Perhaps our best bet is taking the tram there, dropping our things off, and then meeting Dorthea outside the tailor’s?” 

I nod in agreement, letting Penelope have her fun as we wait nearby for the tram to make its stop. I watch the people near us wait as well. Most are dressed to the nines; all big skirts, flashy jewelry, extravagant hats, and the men are dressed in polished suits and loafers. Recognizing the wealth is obvious in this town. Penelope and I blend in easily with that status. 

The ride on the tram is a quick one. We get off on the cobblestone street in front of the saloon and make our way inside. Like any new guest in town, most people stop and stare before going back to their meals or poker games. Some men give us appreciative looks while sipping expensive whiskey from an articulate glass, while women slap their arms and cause them to look away, jealousy flickering in their eyes. 

I frown before focusing on the stairs in front of us leading to the rooms. 

“Men are pigs,” Penelope says after throwing her bag on one of the beds in the room. “Except for Beau, of course.” Stars are glimmering in her eyes when she says this. 

I sigh and sit delicately on the edge of the bed. “I am glad you’ve chosen a good one, Pen. Although a Gray, he does treat you fairly and well.” 

She bites her lip and approaches me cautiously. “I’m sorry you have no choice, Clara.” Instead of stars in her eyes, there’s a glassiness instead. “I wish you could love anyone you choose.” 

“Oh, Penelope,” I say, raising a silk gloved hand to her face. “You needn’t worry about me. I’m doing what’s best for our family.” 

“Who cares what’s best for our family. You need to do what’s best for you.” 

I shrug. “Maybe this is what’s best for me.” 

Penelope scoffs. “No, you weren’t brought into this world to take care of an abusive man and be the ditzy housewife. You’re more than that, and you’re giving up too easily.” 

Her words strike a chord with me, and I bow my head as I realize I am giving up. Letting Catherine rule my life, now, as a twenty-three-year-old woman, is embarrassing and sad. But Catherine is ruthless, as is Angelo Bronte, the other half of this marriage deal. I don’t have the wits to go about deceiving them. I’d be stupid to even try. 

“I get you’re scared, but what’s scarier is committing to a life imprisoned to that man and shackled to his bedpost for the rest of your days. I don’t want to see you unloved and unhappy. Ma and Pa would have wanted the best for you,” Penelope tells me through a teary gaze. “You need to find yourself, Clara, and then find love in a gentle man who will let you have a place in this world.” 

I chuckle as tears fall from my eyes. “You’re speaking to me like I’m at one of your protests.” 

“Maybe you should come to one, sometime,” she jokes. “You might learn something about yourself.” 

After sharing a few more tears through our laughter, Penelope tells me she’s going to meet up with Dorthea. I’m invited along, but I decline. The long ride here did a number on me, and all I crave now is a warm lobster bisque and some alone time. 

It’s getting dark by the time my food arrives. I eat in silence as I sit by the tall windows overlooking the street below. I watch as the night comes alive with activity. Everyone laughs and bustles around in the nightlife looking for fun. I smile as I watch couples hold hands and mingle in small groups. I hear the theater here is one to witness, so I finish up my soup and gear up for a little adventure. 

I know I need it. 

* * *

The warm climate has chilled some degrees by the time the show lets out. I wrap my shawl around my frame as I walk away from the Théâtre Râleur.

Penelope should have returned by now, so I start for the saloon. 

On my way, I’m grabbed by a strong pair of hands and dragged into a dark alley. My screams are muffled by a hand placed over my mouth. 

“Shh, Clara,” I hear a dark laugh, and I feel even more fearful when I learn whose masculine voice it is. 

Enzo releases my arms but still has me pinned to the side of a building by blocking me in with his large frame. I’m breathing irregularly as I stare up into his dark eyes, my pulse racing. 

“I heard from one of my father’s messenger boys that a pretty blonde arrived in town this afternoon with an equally pretty companion,” Enzo says. “Who would’ve thought you’d come to my city without telling me.” 

“I...wasn’t planning on coming,” I say in a quiet voice, knowing if I spoke too loud he’d punish me, as ridiculous as it was. 

“But here you are,” he smirks. “And what shall I do now that you’re here, hmm?” 

His right hand moves from the place beside my head down to my neck, where he trails it over my breast. I lose all focus as I realize what he’s doing, and if I could recoil from his touch I would. But the brick wall behind me won’t open up and swallow me whole as I wish. 

Enzo has never touched me like this. For a moment I wish he’d slap me instead, anything but this disgusting turmoil causing bile to rise in my throat. 

He removes his hand and his smirk widens. He loves getting a reaction out of me. 

I swallow thickly. “I thought you were working in Annesburg this week.” 

“I was, but work got cut short when some Murfree Brood’s attacked our camp.” 

“That’s...unfortunate,” I reply. 

Enzo’s hand curls in my hair, a look of thought in his eyes, before he pulls me in and seals his lips on mine. I can’t move as I instantly tense up in his arms. He’s moving his lips against mine, trying to gain entrance with his tongue. When I don’t open up to him, he bites my bottom lip, hard. I cry out and that’s when he completely takes me over. 

Thinking the worst, I shove him off as hard as I can. He’s strong but doesn’t see it coming, so he’s knocked off balance enough for me to get out of his space. 

“You bitch,” he yells. 

I try to exit the alley into the street, but he’s quick enough to grab me. I’m shoved to the ground and all the air leaves my body when he gets on top of me. 

His hands are all over me, hiking up my skirt and ripping at my bodice. He keeps swearing at me and telling me over and over again that I’m his and there’s no way I’ll ever get out of this. I cry in pain when he forces my legs apart. 

He comes back and kisses me forcefully like before. Only this time there’s no way I’m shoving him away. 

While he works on my mouth with a hand beneath my skirt, I try to think of any way I can get out of this. That’s when it hits me. 

I place my hand on his belt buckle, and he freezes his ministrations. His mouth turns to a smile against my lips. 

“Now you’re understandin’, darling.” 

I’m in complete fight or flight mode as I grab the metal handle holstered in his belt. Uneasiness worries my belly when I raise the blade and stick it in his neck. 

Blood spurts over me, and I taste the copper on my lips as it rains from above. Enzo makes the worst gurgling noises from his throat as he takes his last look at me. I’m still crying with the bloody blade in my hand, and the scent of his blood makes my nostrils flare. 

I hurry onto my knees to let out the contents of my stomach on the stone. It’s the most disgusting sight I’ve ever witnessed, and I just caused it. 

I’ve never killed a man before. I’ve never hurt a fly. But here I am with a knife in my hand and a dead body beside me. 

My mouth widens in horror at what just transpired. I throw the blade down and get to my feet, anxiety consuming my body. 

When I glance back at Enzo’s lifeless form, I hurl again. Minutes pass before I can even get up on my feet again. I’ve just committed murder. Me, Clara Braithwaite. A murderer. 

I’m still crying. I nervously run my hands through my hair as I contemplate my next move. Angelo Bronte is going to murder me himself if he finds out I killed his son. That alone makes me move faster to get this place cleaned up. 

I start by moving Enzo’s body into some bushes nearby. It’ll have to do while I run back to the saloon. Doing this alone will be no easy feat, so I hope enlisting Penelope won’t guilt me too much. 

Thankfully the saloon is empty. I hear some rummaging in the back behind the bar, so I hurry up the stairs to my room before being seen. 

“Penelope?” I ask in the dark. “Pen, wake up!” 

“Shh,” she groans. “I’m sleeping.” 

“Penelope, I just did something bad.” Oh, the tears are fighting their way through again. 

That perks her up. Although sleepy, she rubs her eyes and yawns before taking a good look at me. 

“Clara! What did you do?” 

“I didn’t...I didn’t have a choice,” I cry. “He...he…” 

Penelope comes to me and holds me in her arms for what feels like forever. During that time I explain what happened and she agrees to help me. 

“If you aren’t comfortable…” 

Penelope shushes me. “No. You defended yourself, Clara. You aren’t in the wrong here.” 

“So, what do we do?” I sniffle. “If we go to the police…” 

“We can’t. Angelo will have your head if he knows you did this, no matter the circumstances. We’ll have to get rid of the body ourselves.” 

So, we do what any Braithwaite would do. 

We take care of it. 


End file.
